


A Little Company

by BrandyFromTheBottle



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Introspection, Kinda Dark, harlock is here to make sure nothing happens, kinda maybe weirdly shippy maybe if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23199766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrandyFromTheBottle/pseuds/BrandyFromTheBottle
Summary: The Ashen Knight considers the most recent events and this boy that is so much like him.--He was a man, once. He still is, the Ashen Knight reminds himself; he has given so much. He has given his time, seemingly infinite, and his patience, sorely frayed, to keeping the humans that come into his care safe. He remembers the ache for adventure; he remembers the thirst for such glory. He wouldn't insult the many hopefuls that enter Castle Crowhenge by making it an unsatisfying challenge.
Relationships: Gregor Hartway & The Ashen Knight
Kudos: 4





	A Little Company

He was a man, once. He still is, the Ashen Knight reminds himself; he has given so much. He has given his time, seemingly infinite, and his patience, sorely frayed, to keeping the humans that come into his care safe. He remembers the ache for adventure; he remembers the thirst for such glory. He wouldn't insult the many hopefuls that enter Castle Crowhenge by making it an unsatisfying challenge. 

It is not his fault the Castle is a monster. That it takes. 

The Ashen Knight turns his dark helmet to his gauntlets, flexing each digit and listening to the minute creaking of leather and steel. He remembers having hands. Or, he remembers what it is to have hands. The blistering fires that stain his fingertips with heat while the shrieking blizzards leech the color away. He remembers that roughness of his husband's hands rubbing life back into his frozen limbs, a roughness that is different from the toothy grip of his greatsword. 

Sometimes the memories get hazy.

He remembers things his metals hands have never held, things he has never seen when his eyes still rested in his skull. He has felt them all in the brief but intimate brushes against many an adventurer's mind and he relishes each new and novel sensation. Not to take, only to cherish. Only to hold and ponder and worry over until they are as smooth as polished steel and fit perfectly into the rest of his memories. 

The Ashen Knight doesn't take these memories any more than one can take the color from a sunset by witnessing its glory. He sees and remembers, but he doesn't take. 

He isn't a monster. The Ashen Knight knows this with absolute confidence.

In the monotony of years, the Ashen Knight has fallen into introspection. When there is nothing but the shrill crying of the castle's stewards lamenting their fate (or, perhaps screaming their victory) the Ashen Knight has pondered the mettle of a man if he cannot  _ act _ . If it is enough to remember giving everything of himself. If it is enough to remember his victories and mistakes. If his memories alone can keep him a man.

The Ashen Knight warns the Lady Harleaux against favorites, but he dotes on Gregor. 

Gregor is a rare creature. Pure, not from lack of pollution, but from being so brilliant and burning that no corruption can touch him without burning away into petals of ash. 

So much has tried to corrupt the boy and nothing has found purchase. Not the friends the boy chooses to make nor the enemies that dog his heels. No smile or bloody blade has swayed Gregor from his righteousness. No man, creature, or spirit has taken that goodness from the boy. 

The Ashen Knight has not taken from Gregor. He has  _ given _ much to the boy. 

He has given the boy his stance, the Ashen Stance, which is ill-fitting for now, but Gregor is a bright spark that only needs the right fuel to flourish. And the Ashen Knight can be that for him. He can give Gregor fuel. 

There is so much that fuels the boy already. 

"Who is Aryn?"

The Ashen Knight appreciates that he can't see everything in the human mind. Memories that warp with time or tampering remain obfuscated to the Ashen Knight just as they are to their owners. It makes them all the more fascinating to encounter. A puzzle. 

It doesn't happen very often that the Ashen Knight gets to try and solve such puzzles. It's not so often he has the chance to have such meaningful conversations with friends. 

"A friend." 

There's a bitterness there that The Ashen Knight knows. He can taste it in the perfume of memories and it intrigues him to pursue, to follow that blood trail to its inevitable and terrible end. 

The monsters have taken so much from this boy. Monsters with claws and beaks and monsters with gallows and secular decrees. Monsters that move like friends. Robbing the boy of family after found family. 

And still,  _ he _ gives. 

The Ashen Knight would like very much to keep Gregor from giving himself away.

When next they train, the Ashen Knight reaches out a harsh finger and steadies it to gently tap Gregor's head.

"What was that for?" Gregor rubs his head, smoothing out his hair. Strands of it fall loose from his ponytail and get stuck in the sweat beading his brow. 

"I believe you would call it 'a boop'," the Ashen Knight says. The Lady Harleaux snorts from the sidelines. 

"You boop noses," Gregor says, scrunching his nose and wrinkling his face. "I boop Dont's nose all the time."

"Yes," The Ashen Knight nods his great head. "The spirit folk."

"Dont's great!" Gregor says, brightly. "She's super cuddly and really cute." 

"A boy and his dog," the Lady Harleaux drawls.

"Dont's a pigbat," Gregor corrects. "She's not a dog. But, she will fetch."

"Boop," the Ashen Knight intones, carefully touching Gregor's face, his nose. Gregor's face twists from open delight at remembering his friend to a puzzled, affronted squint. 

"I don't...should I 'squee'?" Gregor looks over at the Lady Harleaux. She shrugs, looking shrewdly at the Ashen Knight. If the metal man could sweat, he would. As it is, the molten rock around him becomes briefly uncomfortable. 

The Ashen Knight tightens his grip in his blade.

"You should do what is comfortable among friends." The Ashen Knight glances at the Lady Harleaux and then to Gregor. "You are safe here." Gregor's face twists further into confusion, glancing from the Ashen Knight to the Lady.

"Well, yeah. I mean. Nothing can get in this castle," Gregor hesitates. "Except for a lot. Yeah, we might need to work on that."

"I mean emotionally," the Ashen Knight corrects, affectionately. "You are safe."

"Oh!" Gregor nods, eyes lighting up before dimming again. "I don't know what that means." The Lady Harleaux quietly groans. The Ashen Knight empathizes. 

"I know," the Ashen Knight begins. He hesitates. "It might be that you are not ready."

"Yeah, no. He--no," the Lady Harleaux interjects. Gregor looks between them.

"Ready for what? Is this about training? I'm always ready for training."

"I know," the Ashen Knight repeats. Gregor smiles and the Ashen Knight grows warm with an inner spark. "Ever eager."

"Emotions," the Lady Harleaux spits. "What's keeping you you and me me."

"Well, and you're a girl," Gregor adds. "And you have metal bits."

"And, you utilize traps and employ highly effective subterfuge." The Lady Harleaux gives the Ashen Knight a look at his addition. "What?"

"What I'm saying," the Lady starts. "Is that you're a precious cinnamon bun." She gives Gregor a look that is warm, though her eyes remain stony and her face rigid. "And that makes you better that a lot of us."

The Ashen Knight would agree with that. Gregor is a man, the way other men should be men. He's pure in a way things can only become through fire.

The Ashen Knight tries to remember if his husband was a man like Gregor; if that was the goodness in the world that inspired him to adventure forth and destroy the monsters that threatened the land. 

"Hey, Ashen Knight!" 

The Ashen Knight startles, cranes his neck to face the young man.

"I'm sorry?" He asks. Gregor pats the warm plate mail that makes the Ashen Knight's shape. The Ashen Knight can't feel much of it, but he still thinks it feels  _ nice _ . 

"You kinda zoned out," Gregor says. "Harlock said it'd be the 'perfect time to attack', cause your guard was down and it was my only chance to actually get a good hit in, 'cause you're so powerful and stuff." Gregor's voice rushes out and over the Ashen Knight quickly. "But, I don't think that's honest."

Honest. 

The Ashen Knight is overcome with an emotion, deep and searing. His gloves creak as he grips his sword hilt. 

"Gregor, my boy," he begins and falters. He clears his throat. "Gregor."

"I think we're done," the Lady Harleaux says. She places a warm, fleshy hand on Gregor's shoulder, pulling him back. The Ashen Knight imagines that he misses the point of contact that was Gregor's small hand against his plate. "You guys are getting stupid in the heat." 

"I feel fine," Gregor objects, swatting gently at the Lady.

"Perhaps," the Ashen Knight rumbles. "You are right." He turns his gaze away to the molten rock beneath him before setting his dark visor on his human guests. "I forget, sometimes, how taxing this place is," he says. "For a man."

"Come on," the Lady urges Gregor away, and each step seems to make the Ashen Knight colder. "You both need a break."

Gregor fusses at the Lady Harleaux, as she nearly drags him from the training room. His dedication and heart is admirable. It makes something warm and fluttering move within the Ashen Knight's chest, as if the beating of Gregor's great and powerful heart has inspired life and motion where there has only been long and empty darkness.

The Ashen Knight listlessly lifts his monstrous sword and then dips it into the magma below. Immediately, the metal begins to translate heat up the blade, but it never seems to touch him. Instead, he watches the blade turn red and yellow and white. He watches cracks appear in the heat and peel away in dark flakes. 

He thinks and he pulls his blade free and the heat makes the air swim like water. He  _ tries _ not to think, but he is alone in the molten bowels of his castle, and the river of red stone is unnervingly peaceable. 

The Ashen Knight thinks that he would never take from Gregor. He thinks he would never demand that spark be traded for anything. 

But, it isn't as if Gregor needs to go anywhere. There's nowhere in the world Gregor is needed more than here. 

He isn't taking anything. 

He can't take what Gregor willingly gives. And the boy gives and gives and gives. 

There are monsters in this world that would take advantage of Gregor's heart and generosity. Monsters like men and monsters like friends. Like the godling. 

The Ashen Knight won't let that happen. Nor will he let the boy's own nobility lead him astray. He would hate for Gregor to become like him. 

But, what a thing it would be, to have company and never be alone again. The Ashen Knight tries to remember if that's what inspired him to marriage, that millennia ago. The fear of facing the monstrous world alone. If that same monstrous world drove away the fear of isolation and rendered the Ashen Knight both pliant and willing to be molded into the metal sentinel he is today. 

Gregor is too beloved to become another ashen knight. Too many voices would cry out against the injustice of losing such a brilliant spark that their indignation alone would reignite him. 

It has happened before, for the boy. Powerful and needy people pulling him back together after Death has opened its welcoming arms. Another aspect that leaves Gregor so enticing: he is already  _ so _ desired. 

He has already cheated Death enough times to win him a few lifetimes. Or, Death has been cheated for him. 

The Ashen Knight wonders, briefly, who holds the contract for the boy's life. It's immaterial, as the Ashen Knight has quietly claimed it. He is the last one to save Gregor's life, after all. 

He’s looking forward to the company.

**Author's Note:**

> We're getting some Gregor backstory and I had to get this out before THINGS happen.


End file.
